


Pickman's Gallery

by letmeshinebright



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood and Injury, Edge Play, Knife Play, M/M, dom/sub elements, slight praise kink, they switch guys!!!!!!!! they switch rolls!!!!!, trans man, vaginal stimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 12:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11874213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmeshinebright/pseuds/letmeshinebright
Summary: Reyes, the Sole Survivor of the Commonwealth, meets Pickman.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lets try something new!

Pickmans gallery

 

Before the war, Reyes had always enjoyed art. It was… not a well-known fact, but those close to him before the war noticed the art history books stashed around his home and tucked away in his bookshelf. How he perked up slightly when the conversation even remotely moved toward fine art or history, or how Reyes eyes would spend a little too long lingering over the _Café Terrace_ painting hanging on the wall of his home whenever he had a moment of quiet, ever tracing with his eyes the firm strokes of paint across the canvas as if he was looking at it for the first time. But, for whatever reason, he kept quiet about the interest unless provoked. Perhaps it was the stress of the possible impending war at the time, maybe he just didn’t like sharing, or maybe he was afraid to share. Nobody really knew. And when Reyes came back, emerged from the vault to find all traces of art history knowledge gone. His books, his painting… He didn’t bother even mentioning it to anyone of this new age. Maybe if Nora was there, she would have noticed it; a light, gone from Reyes’ eyes.

The Commonwealth was a bleak wasteland in the eyes of Reyes, nothing like the paintings he clung to in his memory to desperately. The vivid blues, greens and oranges used by Van Gogh in his thick strokes, the deep purple and shifting yellows of Picasso’s cubism, the delicate layering of pale blues by Monet... The Michelangelo, the Degas, the Dali, the Rivera, the Manet, the Hooper… It was gone, lost in the dust that was scattered across the waste. Nobody cared for art, and Reyes grew cold. Colder than he was before.

But there was a particular request, brought to his attention by the mayor of Goodneighbor… A Gallery? In the wastes? Surely nothing could have survived after the bombs fell, but was someone trying to collect together art? Maybe putting their own on display? From what he was told, there seemed to be more to it than just an innocent display – But the mayor didn’t have to persuade him, he felt his heart tugging toward the gallery the closer he got, a rush he had not felt in over 200 years.

He went alone, against X6-88s judgement, but he complied with his request to go alone. A part of Reyes wished he hadn’t, an even deeper part of him was glad he did.

When he entered the gallery, and after clearing the raiders that attacked without remorse, he finally got to realize where he was standing – it was a bloody sight. Body parts, bones, blood, all of it horrid, but not anything new, not anything he hadn’t _seen_ before. No, it was the art that sent a chill crawled up his spine, gazing at the paintings that hung on the wall. There was not in fear of what he looked at – it was a sense of wonder, a curiosity prickling at his brain. The distorted faces, some slightly deconstructed and eyes glowing yellow as they stared back at the onlooker. Reyes could also see it was not paint upon the unprimed canvas as well. No, not paint… If the smell didn’t make it obvious. He didn’t want to think on it too long, not yet.

The further he entered the gallery, the more seemed to click while simultaneously raising new questions. Who was this Pickman? What was he like? From the tape he had found and listened too, he did not seem brash or boisterous in his actions. Like his paintings, though erratic at first glance, seemed… Meticulous, every stroke planned even when an unexpected blossom of inspiration came. There was no randomness to the paintings or the bodies that littered the building. Pickman only killed raiders, it was intentional. But there was another layer to this – his paintings were not for study like Da Vinci and his illustrations of the human form – Pickman was disturbed, there was no question about that.

He needed to meet him, to see who this was. Was he a monster, like he had heard? Or like many other artists lost in history… misunderstood. In need of more understanding.

Traversing the tunnels of Pickman’s gallery was not particularly fun, especially with the mines littered about, thankful for being able to jump out of the way of the first one, Reyes quickly learned to look where he stepped here. The walls cast spectral shadows in the orange glow of the lantern light the further he went. Was he entering a trap? Surely he could get himself out on his own, maybe… Hopefully. Perhaps this was not the best plan, but it was too late now as he approached what seemed to be the end, gazing down through his scope from a fair distance above in the tunnel.

Three raiders, and a man in a suit with his hands above his head. His features were… Soft, hair surprisingly clean and well kept, facial hair trimmed evenly, suit in fair condition. He stared at the Raiders without an ounce of fear, it seemed, even with a gun pointed at him.

There was a moment, Pickman’s eyes glanced upward. His gaze met Reyes through the scope. His grey eyes startlingly clear, and with a strange beauty in the long stare, a calmness.

A shot blast echoed and bounced around the tunnel walls as a bullet connected with Pickman, the man tearing his eyes away as he groaned in pain, falling to the ground. Reyes was not sure how fast he moved, but before much more could be realized he was attacking the Raiders. _No, not now, not when he had just found him_. He had to meet him, had to know if he had found an equal, a connection in this waste of a world, maybe? He would not let them take this man away, he would decide his fate.

The screams and gunshots never reached the surface, echoing through the tunnels and being absorbed by the underground. Nobody would ever know it happened. Reyes stood, turned away from Pickman, wiping the blood off of his gun. It was a fruitless effort, it seemed, but his attention was quickly turned to Pickman himself. ‘ _Quite small for a notorious, bloodthirsty killer_ ,’ Reyes thought, ‘ _and much too innocent of a face_.’ It was the eyes, those cold grey eyes. Beautiful grey, like clouds. Unforgiving, like a murderer.

Pickman stood up, holding his side with one hand, injecting a stimpack with another. He grunted a moment, taking a deep breath as the medicine pulsed through his body, standing up straight to face who saved him but could also very well be his end. Again, there was no fear in his eyes, no storm in the still grey iris.

“That was… Close. Thank you,” Pickman spoke slowly, calmly, but happy regardless of what had just happened. “Those people deserved worse than death,”

Reyes could not help the laugh that bubbled forth. He wasn’t even sure why he was laughing. “In comparison to what you seem to be doing? I don’t know,”

Pickman gave an icy smile, lowering his hand from his wound, the blood already staining his suit.

“And yet you still murdered them without question,” There was a slight challenge in his voice, a prodding at Reyes – a mutual curiousness about the man who just saved him. Reyes cocked a brow.

“They were killers. If I hadn’t jumped in, you would be dead,”

“Then that does not make you much better, huh Killer?” Pickman continued to prod, taking a half step closer. Reyes swallowed, narrowing his eyes down at the man.

“You’re one to talk,” Reyes spoke without restraint. Pickman smiled at that.

“In any case, let me repay you,” The chilling suaveness and confidence in Pickmans voice almost intimidated Reyes. A ‘repayment’ from this man could mean many things. He tightened his jaw, ignoring the shiver traveling up his spine as he stood up a little straighter.

“What did you have in mind?”

“A gift, nothing more. If you look deep into my painting ‘Picnic for Stanley,’ you will find my gratitude,”

Pickman took a confident, smooth step forward, taking Reyes’ hand without restraint. Reyes jumped at the sudden touch, feeling the cool metal pressed firmly into the middle of his palm before Pickman forced his fingers closed around it. “You will need this,” He explained, eyes never breaking contact, analyzing him. Reyes had to force his eyes down, even then he could feel Pickman’s gaze upon him as he looked over the new key in his hand. Reyes looked back up, pulling himself away from Pickmans cool touch.

“You have an interesting subject matter for your paintings, Pickman,” Reyes began, Pickman gave a please smile.

“Do you like it? Very few appreciate my work, but I do so love to create my pieces,” Pickman continued to speak in his ever calm tone, it was almost pensive. Reyes thought for a moment before he nodded, stowing the key into his pocket.

This was the troubled man behind the canvas, yet he appeared so… normal. How deceiving looks can be in the wastes. What could possibly be going on in that twisted mind of his? The prickle of curiosity continued to fester in the back of his mind.

“I do,” Reyes nodded slowly, tucking his gun away and moving toward the door. “Reminds me of Picasso,” he commented offhandedly without really realizing.

Pickman blinked, watching Reyes. He stepped forward again, closer. They were entering personal space now, Reyes shifted uncomfortably.

“…Picasso?” Pickman asked. ‘”I’ve never met the man,”

Reyes froze, almost laughing. He shook his head.

“Well, he died in the 1970’s, so… I’d be really surprised if you had met him,” Reyes chuckled. When he met eyes with Pickman this time, it was an intense look. He was fully serious, he wanted him to continue, to tell him more. He hungered for more, just as Reyes desired to understand Pickman. Reyes swallowed thickly. “Um… He did this thing, where he… _Deconstructed_ his subjects with just a paintbrush. Pulling them apart into just shapes… It was quite grotesque at the time,”

“It sounds beautiful,” Pickman smiled, speaking without hesitation. “A man after my heart, though killing a man with a paintbrush seems a bit difficult,”

Reyes shook his head again, this made him laugh for real.

“No, no… that’s not what I meant,” Reyes took a half step away from Pickman, trying to escape those still staring eyes. “I mean he would paint from his mind a deconstruction of someone’s… face, or their body, onto the canvas. Not actually physically. It was an outlet for… insecurities, anger, emotions,” Reyes waved a hand. “But, this all in the past. It’s all gone now,”

Pickman stood absolutely still, a quickening to his heart rate for the first time in months. As Reyes moved to leave, Pickman lunged forward to catch his arm. Reyes instinctively yanked away when grabbed, hand moving to his gun but not quite grabbing it.

“Killer,” Pickman spoke, still so calm, too calm, like a deceivingly warm breeze before a winter storm. And the name, “Killer,”… it was almost affectionate in the way he said it. He offered a smile when he saw Reyes grimace at the name. _Too kind, too casual._

“Come back soon,” Pickman smiled warmly. “I’d enjoy your company, and your input on my pieces. You are the first I’ve ever met to have an informed eye in the fine art of painting,” He stepped forward. Before Reyes could protest, he stroked a hand down the side of Reyes’ face. An affectionate gesture, if not for the slight roughness as he forced his chin up to get a better look of his neck. “Though I work alone, I could paint your portrait. You have a lovely face, such lovely features like those pre-war magazines… I would love to see your head on display-”

Reyes caught Pickmans hand in his quickly, pulling it away. His jaw tightened.

“-as a _painting_ , that is,” Pickman quickly smiled, a little darker than before. Reyes narrowed his eyes at him, Pickman’s grey eyes unyielding.

“I’ll keep my head, _thanks_ ,” Reyes released, stepping away. He looked Pickman up and down, who was seemingly unoffended by his words. Reyes turned, walking away. Before reaching the door, hand hovering over the doorknob, he turned his head back around.

“… I’ll see you later, Pickman,”

“Later, Killer,” Pickman smiled, a fading echo of whistling reaching his ears as he put more distance between him and the grotesque gallery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two! HEy there is a bit of smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TRIED AGAIN I MAY ADD MORE THIS IS MOSTLY JUST A PLACE TO PUT MY PICKMAN WRITING

He didn’t fully know why he went back. He didn’t know why in the few moments when he had a clear head wandering the commonwealth he thought of him, and those chilling grey eyes and pleasant smile. It was also embarrassing how often he pulled out the thank-you note he had found from Pickman, tracing his finger across the painted heart and reading the two words over and over, hearing the artist’s voice.

‘Thanks, Killer,’

Not just an artist, a murderer. He had to keep reminding himself. In his sleep the paintings would pop up. Not the focus of the dreams, but there – silently hanging on the walls, passed by in hallways, in the corner of rooms. Yellow eyes drilling into him slowly like knifes, expressions echoed in the back of his thoughts. They were chilling, and beautiful, and became the center of his curiosity.

He went again, and it seemed like Pickman was expecting him this time.

Though he probably didn’t need to, he knocked on the door out of curtesy. When no response came, he opened the door slowly with one hand, the other hand hovering over his 10m pistol in case of more raiders – but there were none to be found. In fact, the bodies that he had left in waste the last time he had come through had been moved, but the unmistakable smell of death still hung in the air. Reyes entered slowly, the sound of the classical music station could be heard somewhere within the house, but no sign of Pickman…

He was only a few steps into the house when the door shut behind him, Reyes turned quickly to see that Pickman had been standing behind it, waiting to close the door. His eyes were piercing, as if looking past Reyes into his anatomy. He gave a calm smile, stepping forward.

“Nice to see you again, Killer,” Pickman smiled, holding eye contact until he stepped past him fully, Reyes biting his cheek as Pickman brushed his shoulder. He stepped into the left room, the Main Gallery.

“Did you enjoy my gift? It was one of my favorite knifes,” Pickman asked over his shoulder, gazing up at one of his own paintings. “Some of my favorite pieces were created by the blood it has shed for me,” Reyes stepped into the room, hand coming to rest on the knife strapped to his belt.

“It has served me well since, so I can’t complain,” Reyes shrugged, watching Pickman carefully. Pickman continued to stare at his painting, humming slightly to himself.

“Killer,” Pickman called affectionately, turning to look at Reyes, “What do you think of this piece?”

Reyes tightened his jaw at the name, stepping up next to Pickman.

“My name is not Killer, its Reyes,” he spoke, only seeming to make Pickman more amused.

“Regardless, you’re still a Killer, _Killer_ ,” He emphasized, and Reyes knew this was a battle he would not win. Pickman looked back up at his painting. “So, tell me more of what you think, what you know,”

Reyes stared at the red and yellow painting for a moment. It was of a man, seated in a chair. Pickman watched Reyes’ face as he stared longer, thinking.

“I think… It is nice, in an odd way,” Reyes started, glancing at Pickman. Those grey eyes were a veil, because he could not tell what Pickman was thinking. Reyes swallowed, looking back up.

“I see… A man, who feels like he is trapped. Stuck. Physical bonds he is making himself…” Reyes spoke slowly, carefully. He looked back to Pickman, who has a small smile creeping upon his lips.

“Oh, they were not imaginary bonds,” Pickman chuckled, “I had to tie him to the chair. He kept falling off the stool,”

Pickman may have been chuckling, but an ice cold chill ran up and down Reyes’ back. He was dodging the intent of his statement, but it didn’t make it any less creepy. Pickman finally stopped laughing, moving to another piece on the wall.

“I like your thoughts, though,” Pickman mused, shoes tapping pleasantly against the old wood as he came to a stop in front of another piece. Pickman stared at Reyes, and he followed to stand next to him again. Pickman gestured up at the painting, a man who seemed to have wings.

“What of this piece?” Pickman asked, watching Reyes again as he thought. The way his fingers shifted and rubbed at the end of his sleeve nervously, the slight shift in his feet, the tightening of his jaw. Reyes’ neck was exposed, not covered by armor, and oh how Pickman felt blessed. What a gift! He watched Reyes’ Adams Apple bob slightly when he swallowed, the tendons in his neck were well defined and beautiful. How dearly Pickman wished to trace over them with his fingers, pull at them and observe them in his hands… how soft and squishy were they? What beautiful, warm blood was held in this man, what paintings could he create…?

“I think,” Reyes’ voice brought Pickmans focus back, the artist blinking as he looked back at Reyes’ in the eyes. “This is a man who wants to escape. Fly away, or…” Reyes looked to Pickman, “… A fallen angel?”

Pickman considered his words for a moment, humming in thought to the music playing deep in the home. He stepped away from the painting, pacing around the room again. Reyes followed him with his eyes, remaining still.

“I would like to paint your portrait, Killer,” Pickman finally said, turning back to Reyes. “You have such lovely features, beautiful expressions. I want to capture it, if I cannot have your physical head to display,”

Reyes raised a brow, which made Pickman give a small grin. Pickman held out a hand.

“I won’t even make you bleed… Unless you want to,” Pickman offered. “After all, it is called pain-ting,”

Pickman let out a small laugh at his own joke, but that seemed to just make Reyes’ expression deepen with more worry. He could see his hand hover over the knife. Ready for a wrong move, ready to defend himself. Pickman pulled his hand away, folding them behind his back.

“Come, up to my study, it will not take long,”

~

The intent was to paint him, but Pickman had Reyes sit on the bed, the artist standing between the survivor’s legs. At first, it was just gentle touches to Reyes’ face, shifting him from side to side for Pickman to study. Then the touches moved lower, feeling the sensitive parts of his neck right under his jaw, making Reyes tense and breath funny. Pickman then tried a harsher touch, forcing Reyes to point his chin up, which resulted in the most beautiful huff he had ever heard. No, he did not want to kill Reyes – for starters, this man could clearly defend himself easily. He wanted to strip away his defenses and see the man under the armor. Feel the muscle firm under the skin, the pulse in his veins. Maybe take a knife to it and paint with his precious blood. Oh, how precious every drop would be to him. Not like Raiders, they were a cap-per-dozen. But Reyes, he was one of a kind. And original, a beauty. Death would take away that brilliant mind under the skull he wished to see but had to refrain from cracking open. How much precious knowledge and words within remained unspoken and ready to be devoured? Maybe someday, he would get to see the soft tissue under that skull-cap. But no, not today. Today he knew what he desired, and Reyes’ body sang so sweetly under his touch. Reyes shivered as Pickman unzipped the long Courser coat he had been wearing, a hand grazing his shoulder and pushing the coat down his arms. He shivered, trying to look away from Pickman but his face was pulled back to meet his eyes – Cool, calm, collected. Hungry. Reyes swallowed, pressing his thighs together as heat started to pulse between his legs.

Reyes closed his eyes as Pickman removed his coat fully, a hand drifting down his side. Reyes’ heart was racing, he had not been intimate with anyone since before the bombs feel, and even then, with his wife… There were reasons he was nervous, and she had always respected that. But Pickman didn’t know, and fear was bubbling up.

“Pickman…” Reyes whispered, raising a hand and pressing it against Pickman’s chest, holding him a slight distance away allowing Reyes to breathe and think. He simply hummed in reply, letting Reyes know he was listening but his hand continued to roam his side even lower, pressing into his hand.

“Um… I don’t...,” Reyes began. Pickman backed up, looking at Reyes with a confused.

“Are you not comfortable?” Pickman questioned, pulling his hands away from Reyes. Reyes could feel his breath coming short, pressing his thighs even tighter together in embarrassment.

“No! I, No… just,” He sighed, having difficulty keeping eye contact. It was dumb that he was worried, but… People had been so against it in his time, and he didn’t know if people were still against Trans people today. He didn’t want this to end, he didn’t want this to stop because of something he could not control.

“I… I’m Trans,”

Silence. Pickman cocked an eyebrow at him, Reyes grew more and more uncomfortable under his overall unchanged gaze.

“… And?” Pickman finally questioned, Reyes’ eyes went wide.

“That… Does not bother you?” Reyes asked, breathless. Pickman chuckled slightly, stepping forward again, close enough that Reyes started to lean back onto the bed, the heat returning between his thighs.

“Regardless of your anatomy, every part of you is a treasure,” He whispered, climbing on top of him to a point of straddling his hips. Reyes flushed dark red, breathing out hotly as Pickman leaned down, grazing his lips gently over Reyes’ neck, moving up to Reyes’ ear. “I want to explore every part of your being, Killer, if you would let me.”

Reyes let out a shaky breath in disbelief as his back hit the bed. Pickman placed his hands down on either side of Reyes’ head, staring down at him with those ever still eyes. Pickman shifted a knee between Reyes’s thighs, forcing them apart. Reyes stifled a gasp, feeling exposed even though he was fully dressed.

“Let me make you feel good,” Pickman whispered, shifting his weight to one hand, taking his other and placing it on Reyes’ inner thigh. Reyes tensed up, letting out a hot breath before finally nodding his head slightly. Pickman finally smiled wide, flashing his teeth as he pushed Reyes’ thighs further apart, hand now resting over his crotch.

“Then let us begin,” He spoke with excitement, unzipping Reyes’ pants slowly. “I don’t want to indulge too quickly,” Pickman mused, fingers grazing over Reyes’ now exposed lower stomach. “But I will make you moan, my Killer,”

Pickman’s eyes lingered over Reyes’ stomach, pressing two fingers into the slight soft plushness that remained there. What a relic this body was, a vision of health. Soft skin, properly healed over scars, a plushness under the skin that was evidence of a healthy amount of fat storage, no radiation poisoning…

_Perfect._

Pickman dipped his fingers under Reyes’ pants slowly, kissing and sucking gently at Reyes’ neck as his fingers dipped under his pants, rubbing softly through his boxers as the fabric grew wet. Reyes took a deep breath - Pickman smelled of blood and old wood, and yet it was somehow intoxicating. He jolted under Pickmans slow yet unyielding hand as it rubbed confident circles around Reyes’ nub, he could feel the fabric become slick the longer he continued.

Reyes bit his lip, nails digging into the mattress under him as Pickman fingers moved past his waistband, biting the crook of his neck as he pinched his nub in two fingers, massaging it and becoming familiar. Reyes gasped suddenly, gritting his teeth at the new pain in his neck and sensations traveling up and down his body. Chuckling low, Pickman gave a heavy lick and kissed at the bruise that was now blooming under his skin, color flushing out beautifully and slow. His fingers swiped across his slick slit before returning to the nub, the lewd squelch could be heard as he squeezed and rubbed his fingers in gentle circles. Reyes bucked his hips, sinking into the mattress as his hips pressed up. Pickman hummed, smiling affectionately.

“You are so wet, Killer,” He whispered low, “I’ve only just started yet you look ready to cum already,”

 Reyes could only gasp in response as his fingers moved faster. He had touched himself in the past, yes, but the way Pickman touched him was just a little different. Faster, a little rougher but still sending pleasurable jolts through his thighs and torso. He felt like he was dripping, soaking Pickmans hand under his hot touch. Reyes had more important things to focus on when he had exited the Vault, self-pleasure was not something he even thought of partaking in until he got a soft, clean bed in the Institute. A place where he could shower and bathe and truly pamper himself. But this, this feeling and being touched by another, he almost felt hypersensitive.

Reyes’ back arched as he moaned out, hips pushing out to try and get Pickman to touch him more, he could feel he was so close. He was panting now, Pickman raising himself up to look down at Reyes squirming and shaking below him in ecstasy. Pickman pushed Reyes’ shirt up, trailing his fingers along his abdomen up to his chest. His fingers danced across Reyes perfect skin so softly until it caught a nipple between his fingers, twisting gently. He slipped one finger into his warmth effortlessly, caused the man under him to whimper, pushing his hips up again to try and go deeper yet he was so gentle, so shallow with his thrusts. He looked so desperate, blushing hotly under his gentle touches.

“Are you close?” Pickman coed, chuckling when the man below him nodded vigorously, flushing darker. “Don’t hold back, my sweet Killer,” Pickman soothed, leaning down and planting kisses up Reyes’ jaw as he pinched his nipple harder. “Don’t hold back, let yourself go…”

Reyes moaned, long and low as Pickman increased his pace, thumb continuing to rub as a second finger slipped inside. It was not much longer until he felt Reyes tense up, crying out a broken moan as he came across the artists fingers, thighs trembling with aftershocks. Pickman pulled his fingers out, squeezing his nub gently between his index and middle finger as he rubbed in gentle circles, Reyes moaning desperately as he rode out his orgasm.

Pickman smiled, pleased as Reyes relaxed against the bed, breathing heavily and looking disheveled. Reyes’ eyes were barely open, looking up at Pickman.

“Beautiful…” Pickman mused, remaining between Reyes’ legs. He pulled his hand away, rubbing the slick between his thumb and index finger before looking back down at Reyes with a new hunger. A smirk curled the corners of his lips, absolutely predatory in nature.

“But I’m nowhere near done with you _yet_ ,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos is appreciated, comments keep me going! Like something, dislike something? Let me know down below!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knife Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair - I've never written knife play before. I did some research and I tried my best!
> 
>  
> 
> NOTE: the knife that Reyes uses at the beginning is a frozen knife, so when it touches Pickman the water melts! the dripping sensation gives the sub a feeling of blood being drawn without it actually being draw, contributing to the mental stimulation of edge play.

 

“Relax, Pickman,” Reyes cooed, securing the blindfold over the man’s eyes. Pickman let out a shaky huff, but nodded. Reyes smiled warmly, placing a kiss upon the blind man’s lips. He stepped away from him, pacing the bedroom. Today was a special gift to Reyes, Pickman had agreed to let him do what he wanted to – _Dominate_ him. He knew there would be a knife and bondage, but not much else.

Now Pickman was left tied, kneeling on the bed and shivering slightly as his entire body was exposed. His hands, bound behind his back. Reyes smiled, picking up the prepared knife from the ice box. Upon the blade was a thin layer of ice, Reyes special touch. Reyes inspected it carefully before climbing back onto the bed, hungrily looking Pickman up and down as he approached him.

“This is a good look for you,” Reyes smiled, trailing a finger first straight down his chest. Pickman flinched ever so slightly, gooseflesh prickling upon his skin. His cheeks blushed warmly.

“You’re… One to talk… _Ah,_ ” Pickman gasped as the blades tip graced his skin, for only a moment. Reyes pulled away when Pickman flinched.

“You’ve been quite bad, Pickman,” Reyes mused, trailing the ice cold blade across his pectorals. “What is it you have done?”

Pickman gasped as Reyes encircled his nipples with the blade, an involuntary shiver shaking him.

“Uh… I… _Murdered_ a man, yes,” Pickman started slowly.

The knife ran across him again, a little more pressure, prickling his skin but only Reyes could see that no skin was broken. The cold made it sting, and Pickman could feel something… _Dripping_ down his skin. Fear started to rise in his chest, letting out a shaky breath, squirming slightly.

Reyes shifted his shoulders, watching as Pickman’s cock stirred with just the most gentle of scrapes to his skin. Reyes held the knife like a paint brush, marking his skin like a canvas. Pale pink streaks rose from his skin where his knife went, Pickman gasped as more drips trailed down his chest.

“Do you have any way of explaining yourself?” Reyes coed, his fingers dancing across Pickman’s thighs, making him twitch. Pickman’s lips curled into a sly smile.

“I have… No regrets,” Pickman spoke softly, gasping as the flat of the blade was brought across his neck, slow, the cold of the blade stinging and involuntary fear bubbling as he felt drips trail down from his neck as well. He flushed as he felt himself become more aroused, cock twitching. He let out a needy groan, shifting in his spot.

“Then as it stands, punishment is in order,” Reyes mused, dragging the knife down straight from Pickman’s chin all the way to his lower stomach as he spoke, leaving a pink line along the skin starting at the chest when he flipped it from the back of the blade to the edge. Pickman shivered, twitching as he felt more drips fall down his neck.

“Killer… _R-Reyes_ ” Pickman stuttered, unable to keep his voice steady as he switched names. Reyes watched, pick shoulders tremble under his gaze as his cock started to leak precum. Reyes pulled the knife away, leaning forward to his ear, kissing under it gently before taking the earlobe between his teeth and pulled. A little gasp escaped before Pickman bit his bottom lip, trying hard to silence himself.

“A cut, for every raider this week,” Reyes coed, placing the knife down on the bed for a moment and wrapping his hand around Pickmans cock, giving it lazy slow strokes. “Tell me, how many this week?”

Pickman shuddered, panting hard as he whimpered under the gentle, torturous touch. Pickman tried to bite his lip and keep quiet again, but Reyes would be answered. He gave a firm jerk, twisting his wrist lightly with the movement. Pickman gasped, throwing his head back.

“5…” Pickman finally admitted weakly, a smug grin stretching across his face. “There were… 5…”

Reyes hummed, pulling himself away from Pickman. He huffed, whining as he was left alone on the bed, shivering in anticipation. Across his chest the pink lines looked beautiful, like strokes of paint on a blank canvas. Reyes took the knife up again, placing it back into the ice box. He hummed to himself, glancing at the trembling man on the bed as he took out his next knife – a bit smaller than the last, but fully sanitized and prepared for play. He had worked hard to make sure this entire process would be safe. Sanitized surfaces for the instruments to be placed, clean towels and water to wash with, bandages… The intent was to create a controlled situation, not for Pickman to get infections.

Reyes approached Pickman again, resting a hand first on his shoulder to let him know he was close. The sensitive man flinched, cock twitching again and leaking onto his chest. Pickman whined at Reyes he ran a thumb across his thighs, flicking the knife open with a soft click. Pickman let out a sigh, shaking under his touch as the cool blade touched his thigh, pressing lightly.

“One…” Reyes coed, pressing the blade into the meat of his thigh, skin breaking and slicing apart like paper. His spare hand came to Pickman’s cock, squeezing it tight as he slowly cut across the flesh. Pickman let out a shaky moan, the mix of pain and pleasure blooming through him. He panted, leaning forward slightly, cock twitching needy in Reyes’ hand.

“Re-rey…” Pickman whined, moaning again as Reyes started the second cut.

“Two,” Reyes smiled to himself, watching the blood prickle and rise through the skin. Pickman rocked his hips slightly into Reyes’, trying to fuck into his hand as he winced from the sting of the cut. Reyes pulled away completely, causing Pickman to give a throaty groan in desperation.

“ _Please_ … A-ah,” Pickman cried, squirming in his spot. “D-don’t stop,”

Reyes looked him up and down, waiting another minute before coming back forward, taking the knife to his thigh again. Pickman’s bound arms tensed up, sighing out in relief when he felt his touch again.

“ _Three,_ ” Reyes was afraid Pickman could hear the smile in his voice, but Pickman moaned so loud that he wasn’t even sure he heard him. One of the cuts started to drip down the side of his thigh, red blood staining his skin as it went.

“Yes, _yes… Fuck…._ ” Pickman cried, tears prickling at his eyes but they were absorbed into the cloth blocking his vision. Reyes took his cock into his hand again and stroked it lazily, cutting into his thigh again – a bit deeper than the previous cuts, and much slower. Pickman shuddered, biting his lip.

“Four…” Reyes drew the word long, relishing in Pickmans ecstasy as he seemed to come undone. He loved the way the blood beaded along the cuts against his pale thigh. How he moaned and whimpered under his touch. How his cock twitched and leaked in his hand, head red and needy.

“Stay with me, Pickman,” Reyes coed, bringing the knife away to look at the four cuts. “Just one more…”

Pickman moaned, smile dreamy as he shifted his hips up again, trembling, presenting his thighs.

“ _Reyes… Reyes,_ ” Pickman chanted, letting his head drop to the side, a wide smile across his face. “Please, more, keep going,”

Reyes chuckled, taking the knife back to his thigh.

“Such a needy little thing…” Reyes hummed, leaning forward to place a kiss on Pickmans lips before digging the knife into his thigh again, causing him to gasp. Reyes moved his mouth lower, nibbling at his neck for a moment before moving away.

“Five,” Reyes whispered low, his hand tightened around his cock, slicing slowly along his thigh. Pickman was panting like an animal now, moaning as he huffed out before suddenly crying out desperately, bound arms tensing, throwing his head back as cum spurted shortly out of his cock onto his chest and Reyes’ hand. His entire body trembled with aftershocks, whining as Reyes stroked him gently through it, tears welling again. When finished Reyes looked over the sticky fluid coating his hand, placing the bloody knife down on a prepared surface.

“How naughty, cumming all over my hand,” Reyes tisked, running a finger over the bloody cuts. Pickman winced, hissing from the sudden pain but he sounded exhausted. Reyes smiled, dragging the bloody finger over Pickmans chest.

“Mmm…” He hummed as he drew a heart with Pickmans blood, shiny red in the light and warm to the touch. Pickman breath was shaky but he remained silent, chest heaving in quiet anticipation. Reyes wiped his hand on a fresh towel, scooting closer again to Pickman. He gingerly tugged at the blindfold, taking it off slowly. Pickman peaked his eyes open, eyes puffy and eyelashes dewy with tears. He looked down at himself, at the cuts on his thighs, the pink trails on his chest with water droplets trailing under them, the heart painted on his chest. He looking back up at Reyes, but when those grey eyes met his they were full of appreciation and affection. Reyes smiled, cupping Pickmans face.

“How can I stay mad at a face like this,” Reyes mused, Pickman let out a heavy sigh as he slumped forward, leaning against Reyes with his full weight. Reyes smiled, running gentle fingers through his hair as the man in his arms chanted a mix of his name and thankful praise.

“Come on,” Reyes whispered, “Let’s get you cleaned up,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos is appreciated, comments keep me going! Like something? Dislike something? Let me know down below!!! Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos is appreciated, comments keep me going! Like something? Dislike something? Let me know down below.


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